Ruby Tuesday
by LostinOblivion
Summary: There are few things more terrifying than finding out a man like Ian Doyle was actually in love with her. The origins of the necklace from 'Valhalla'. Pre-show. Prentiss/Doyle, kind of.


_This is simply supposition on Emily's still very mysterious past with Ian Doyle. I do not own CM or _Ruby Tuesday_, the Rolling Stones song from which I stole the title. I'll be posting the companion piece, _Sympathy for the Devil_ (sensing a theme here?) some time this week before 'Lauren' airs. Thanks for reading and please review!_

_Spoilers for the past several new episodes, so beware if you haven't seen them._

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He came home early, she could hear him walking through the villa toward the back patio. Ian knew he'd find her there, she liked the fresh air and sunshine, and today was she helping Joëlle with meal preparation. She was snapping the tips off fresh green beans from the market; when she was finished, Joëlle would steam them or something. The older woman put a limit to what she'd let Emily, or rather Lauren, help her with. Ian preferred she left it to Joëlle altogether, but she got very bored as a lady of means and leisure.

"Isn't this what we have a staff for?" She turned at his voice, to see the amused look on his face.

"I like to be useful, you know that," she said.

"You Americans don't know to relax," he teased, leaning down to kiss her.

"You're in a good mood."

"Things went well today with the new client." He pecked her on the lips again. "Join me in our room when you've finished here, I have a surprise for you, Mo Ghrá."

She smiled at the term or endearment. "I'll be finished in a minute."

He headed off to the bedroom then, and Emily was left alone with her bowl of beans. She snapped the tip off one with a loud crack, and stared off into the grounds of the villa. Emily had to give the arms dealer credit for picking such a beautiful piece of the world to set up shop. The whole place was lush and green, the days warm and sunny, and the air was filled with hints of freesia. It was all so perfect on the surface, but that was just the surface.

Lauren and Ian had met at a local market, where she'd been working at a florist's booth. An American ex-pat that came to France in her twenties and never left, Lauren was a free spirit that moved from job to job. She also didn't interfere with Ian's little business, though was well aware of what he did. They'd been seeing each other for well over a year, and she'd moved into the villa eight months ago. Lauren had been thrilled, Ian had been thrilled, even Sean had been thrilled, while Emily, she'd nearly thrown-up a few times.

Emily had never been under this long, and never been this close to a target. It was never explicitly stated when she accepted the assignment that she was expected to sleep with Doyle, but it was sort of an unspoken rule. If you can get that close, do not hesitate. Easier said than done. Emily had seen what Doyle was capable of, she knew he wasn't the kind, sweet man he was with Lauren. That wasn't something she ever wanted to get close to, but there came a point where Clyde's needling became impossible to suffer through any longer. She'd eventually accepted the assignment.

Lauren snapped her last bean tip, and shifted the bowl to the table. She stood up and shook off any loose tips from her mostly white outfit. Emily did not like white, never had, but Lauren was far less particular. And, it was only practical in this warm climate. She headed inside the villa, through the lavish surroundings, and up the stairs to the master bedroom. She found Ian standing by the window, and when he heard her enter, he turned from the window and walked toward her.

She let him pull her toward the small, ornate chaise lounge and sat beside him. He pulled a small blue pouch from his pocket, and handed it to her. His other hand was closed into a fist, and remained on his lap. Emily took the satin pouch, and gently tugged the strings open, turning the contents over into her palm. A gold chain fell into her hand, not exactly dainty, but expensive nonetheless. It wasn't quite her style, and Ian was normally good at picking jewelry, so she looked at him curiously. He opened his closed hand, and she was surprised to find his Fede ring sitting there, off his finger.

It had been his father's wedding ring, which he'd inherited as an eight year-old when the man was killed. His mother had presented it to him, and he'd taken it as a reminder of his beloved father, and a promise, a vow that he'd get revenge on the killers. That had led to his first foray into arms-dealing, working against the IRA. He didn't tell her the story, but she knew he'd executed the men who killed his father. She'd seen the pictures. Lauren knew only that it was his father's wedding ring, and that the man had been murdered.

"I don't understand," she said softly.

With a soft smile, he took the chain and slid the ring onto it, and then motioned her to turn. She did, beginning to realize what was happening. Ian slipped the chain around her neck and fastened it; it was longer so it hung just above her breasts. "Ian, this was your father's, I can't-"

"Do you know what kind of ring this is, Mo Ghrá?" He cut her off.

"Yes, it's a Fede, from Italy, it was meant to seal vows, I think." She knew it was similar to the Irish Claddagh, with it's hands holding a heart, but the Fede was older.

He nodded. "Wedding vows, between my mother and my father. She had an identical ring, and when she remarried and could no longer wear it on her finger, she wore it on a chain around her neck. She wanted to continue to carry my father with her. That is love, Lauren."

She inhaled, breath catching in her throat. "Ian, are you trying to tell me you love me?" She asked teasingly, trying to lighten things and quiet her racing heart. Bad move.

"Not trying." And then, he was kissing her, soft at first, his hands cupping her face, and when she reciprocated, he deepened it, earning a moan from her.

Ian pulled her up from the couch, and backed her toward the bed, his lips never moving from her mouth. Clothes were disposed of with little flair, until she was wearing only the fede ring on the gold chain. Then Emily was laying on her back, and Ian was above her, leaning down to kiss her. He remained almost still above her, staring into her eyes, one hand brushing hair from her face, gently caressing her cheek. Seven years later, staring into the eyes of Doyle, a man who wanted her to suffer, wanted to destroy her, that moment would in bed would still remain the scariest of her life.

In his eyes were pure love and devotion, for that short moment there were no barriers, none of the detachment he always wore. Ian Doyle had fallen completely in love with Lauren, and to Emily Prentiss that was very dangerous. It was also completely unexpected; she didn't think the man was capable of falling in love.

But the moment broke, and Ian was kissing down her body, sucking at her breasts, trailing down her belly. His gently calloused hands moved over her body with the familiarity of one who'd been there many times before, and the eagerness of one who wasn't tired of the exploration yet. Lauren ran her hands over his back and his chest, over the tattoos she'd long since memorized and the occasional scars that were par for the course for a man in his business. And, when those calloused hands touched her core, Lauren arched her back, gasping, moaning and begging for more.

Emily was a passenger in the moment, trying very hard not to think about those hands running over her skin and stroking between her legs. Those hands that supplied African warlords with weapons to murder, rape and pillage villages of innocent people. Those hands that tortured and executed people who'd crossed him, people who competed for his business, people that talked to the cops. The hands that set explosives in the homes the IRA members who'd killed his father, that left those men, their wives, and children as blackened, burnt pieces of flesh that used to be human beings. Hands that were capable of such evil, and seemed to spend the few ounces of humanity he had all on her.

And, when Lauren cried out in ecstasy, Ian moved those hands, and prepared to enter her. No condom, she had an IUD. Lauren didn't sleep with men unless they were monogamous, she'd had a boyfriend pass her clamydia once, and wasn't keen to repeat that. Emily wasn't keen to get that kind of a gift from Doyle either, but mostly it had been a delaying tactic. Against all predictions, Ian Doyle had been charmed by it, and after a few months together confirmed he hadn't been with anyone else in a month. He'd also with an amused grin, presented her with a medical report giving him a clean bill of health. Lauren had laughed, Emily had wanted to throw up.

That was almost a year ago, and Emily had long since stopped feeling like their was a acid puddle in her gut when Doyle touched her. She'd stopped feeling dirty and ashamed, like she was a hooker for Interpol, and now she felt nothing. When Doyle touched her, Emily shut off everything that made her Emily, every ounce of disgust and hate and self-loathing. Lauren loved Ian, and Lauren wasn't just her cover.

Lauren was the part of her that she let fall for Ian, she had to or she never have made it this far with him. Ian treated Lauren better than any of Emily's boyfriends had every treated her, and Lauren allowed it, because she didn't have Emily's issues with trust. Emily allowed it, because she had to, and because it wasn't really her, she never actually trusted him. Emily and Lauren were never as separate as she wanted, as she pretended, but enough that she got through the longest assignment of her life.

Ian's thrusts grew faster, and Lauren breaths came in quick gasps. The gold chain with the gold Fede ring bounced and jingled around her throat, and her body tensed first. She was screaming as Ian's tensed and he let go, his own screams echoing through the room. Then it grew very quiet, the only sounds their heavy breathing, and Ian rolling off of her with grunt. Lauren turned on her side then, and curled up against his chest. For her there was no safer, no more comforting place in the world.

For Emily, there was no more dangerous place.

Her fingers traced the gold chain and Fede ring, feeling the little hands joined together. _Are you happy, Sean_, she thought. _Are you happy Clyde? _Their goal with Lauren had simply been a woman Doyle would feel enough affection (or desire) for that he'd keep her around and not think much of doing business in front of her. She'd heard enough phone conversations to write a book, witnessed one transaction, and had considerable information on his clients. He didn't think much of speaking in front of her. None of them had considered for a moment that Doyle would actually fall for her.

Doyle ran a hand over her bare skin, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He held her tightly and Emily never flinched. Whatever emotional damage this assignment was going to afflict, it was already done. She let her fingers worry over his chest, almost enjoying the familiarity of the coarse hairs. When his breathing evened out, she didn't try to move, her eyes already fluttering. They hadn't had dinner yet, but that wasn't unusual, they'd eat later. Naked and in the arms of a killer, Emily drifted off to sleep.

In four months, Interpol agents would drag Lauren away from the villa, and ship Ian Doyle off to a prison camp in North Korea.

In four months, Lauren Reynolds would be killed in a car accident, officially freeing Emily Prentiss from a year and a half of soul-sucking undercover work.

In six months, Emily will have left Interpol to work for the FBI in counterterrorism. No one would be informed of her work with Interpol, at first as a protective measure against Doyle's still living associates. Later it would be because she wanted desperately to forget Lauren Reynolds and Ian Doyle.

Two and a half years after that evening, Emily would be starting a career in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

And, seven years after that evening, Ian Doyle will have escaped from prison and be hell-bent on revenge, because Emily Prentiss was responsible for destroying the one woman he truly loved.


End file.
